You Better Move On
by November9Noir
Summary: Filler/Coda for Ep. 1.15 'Blue Code,' rated 'R' for swearing  a lot more than usual for me! , and 'Mature' for mentions of sex and auto-eroticism, written with encouragement from the Person of Interest fic group on LiveJournal


Title: You Better Move On

Author: November9Noir

Rating: R, for language, mentions of sex and auto-eroticism

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from 'Person of Interest,' nor am I profiting from this work in any way.

A/N: Coda/filler fic for Ep. 1.15 'Blue Code'

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><p>New York City, 2008<p>

"Come on," Peter said to Jessica. "There's a couple I want you to meet." But when he led her over to the bar, there was no one there. "Well, that's strange."

Jessica sat down. "What did they look like?"

"He was tall, black hair, good-looking. She had a lot of brunette curls, kind of sharp-featured," he replied. Jessica thought she caught a hint of familiar cologne, definitely not Peter's, and she looked over at what the other man had left behind.

Only a small glass of beer and half a glass of Scotch. _John_.

But no, that wasn't possible. She felt a sudden chill, and almost thought that his blue eyes were on her right now. Get a grip, Jess, she told herself. Surely there are other men in New York who drink that brand of Scotch with a beer chaser. Her John had disappeared from her life seven years ago and had never contacted her again. Except for that nearly impossible chance meeting at the airport 2 years ago, he could have been dead, for all she knew.

The bartender cleared the glasses away, and Jessica brought herself back to the present with a fierce effort and smiled at Peter. This was her life now, with him and the house in New Rochelle. He was a good man, he just…wasn't John.

And she was getting pretty good at lying to herself that she loved him as much as she'd loved John…

(…..)

John felt dirty, like he needed the hottest shower that had ever been invented. Not just for spying on Jessica, although that was bad enough. Stanton had been in rare form, alternately berating him for his behavior, then giving all the usual speeches about how she understood, but we're different from these people now, they don't _really_ want to know how we keep them safe in their beds at night.

But that crack about scratching an itch was what really galled him the most. Hypocritical bitch. She'd been trying to get him to fuck her since the day they'd been assigned together. As far as he could tell, her preference was 'often,' and her tastes…indiscriminate at best.

After dragging him from the bar through the back door, she'd pinned him to the alley wall, fondling his cock and trying to get him to kiss her. "What, no love for Kara?" she'd mocked when she failed to get any response. John had grabbed her arm and twisted it up behind her back. He easily could have broken it, and she knew it, too, her eyes darkening with desire and her breathing fast and erratic.

The crazy little bitch was getting **turned on** by goading him into losing control! Well, there was no way in _hell_ he was going to give her the satisfaction, in any sense of the word.

He pushed her away and stalked off. She trailed him back to the hotel, he knew, but where else could he go? On an impulse, he went past the hotel to the pitiful 'park' that took up one city block across the street. The trees were winter leafless, the concrete walkways cracked and the fountain had been dry and empty for years. The children who had been playing soccer on bare dirt fields and their families were clearing out for the evening, and the drug pushers and streetwalkers started to come in as the sun set. John did a few laps around the park, trying to burn off his agitation.

"Hey, soldier," Stanton called from behind him, just before the street lights came on. Annoyed, he turned to tell her off, but choked in disbelief instead.

Kara was wearing a sleek blonde wig. "I thought you might like me better this way," she said as she sashayed over to him.

John had never wanted so badly in all his life to hit a woman, but this was very nearly too much, chivalry be damned! "Just…stay back," he ordered, and the fury in his voice was enough to stop her cold. "I…said…no." Any further threat was left unspoken.

Stanton was undismayed. "All right, John, if that's how you want it. _Touchy_!" She pulled the wig off, shaking out her mane of brown hair. "Give this to the working girl in 42, will you? I gave her 40 bucks to borrow it." She held it out to John, and he took it with evident distaste.

"Tell Mark I'll be back in a couple of hours after my own R&R." What could he say? She was still the C.O. of this mission.

(…..)

"I told her you wouldn't go for it," the hooker said when John knocked on her door to give her the wig back. "Why are you white people all crazy?" She might have been black, or Puerto Rican, or Cuban for all he could tell.

"It's a crazy world," John commented wryly. He really didn't want to go back to the hotel room yet. "Can I stay here for a while?"

"Look, handsome, I've got to make a living…"

"Just an hour or two. I'll make it worth your while."

"A hundred bucks," she announced. John didn't blink as he pulled his wallet out and handed her a Benjamin. "Ooooh, sugar, I think I'm gonna like you," she cooed as she slipped it into her pocket. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a little extra something-something with that?"

"I'm sure." His tone brooked no argument. She shrugged and sat back on the bed, turning the TV on to some loud and spectacularly unfunny show, at least in his opinion. He sat at the chair next to the window, watching for Stanton to come back.

Just thinking about her made his skin crawl again. "Can I use your shower?" he asked, jumping up and startling the woman.

"White boy, you are strange. That'll be another $40."

"Twenty," he bargained back, for no particular reason. "After I'm done. And I want to be left alone."

"Get your freak on all you want, honey. Just clean up when you're done."

"You'll never know I was there. Scout's honor."

That made her laugh. "Hell yeah, you probably were a Boy Scout."

The bathroom was just like a thousand others he'd been in over the last few years, shabby but clean, fresh towels and soap. He locked the door, not that he thought she would try to come in, but more out of habit. He undressed, neatly folding his clothes, his wallet and gun hidden among them and placed as far from the door as possible. He turned the shower on nearly to scalding hot and walked in. Surprisingly acceptable water pressure beat on his face and chest and back, relaxing him somewhat.

John masturbated, trying to think of nothing. He couldn't think about Jessica now, not after seeing her in another man's arms. Kara Stanton held no interest for him, and the same went for the pretty but too-skinny prostitute in the next room. He came silently. As expected, it brought release but no relief.

He stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed. "Done already?" she asked. "Must be some kind of world record." John smiled slightly and handed her the twenty. He stayed for the rest of the show, and the early news, and then figured it was time to get back to work.

(…..)

Stanton let him back in. The room reeked of sex. He wondered if she'd done the package just for kicks. But no, Snow was gone, there were 2 glasses on the nightstand and the bottle of vodka was finished. So, she'd fucked Mark. It wasn't the first time, John knew. For a spy/operative/mole, Mark was remarkably indiscreet when it came to bragging about his sexual conquests.

"Time to move on, John. Orders came through tonight after all. Mark's getting the car." He only nodded. Everything was packed and ready to go. It was what they did, after all. Move on, time after time, to some other god-forsaken country…


End file.
